The American philosopher Roy Wood Sellars wrote a book I'm currently reading, entitled The Next Step in Religion: An Essay towards the Coming Renaissance. This work was published in 1918. As you might guess from its title, Sellars anticipated great things--the triumph of the scientific view and reason, the dissolution of traditional religions, the disappearance of anthropomorphic deities--which have not and possibly will never take place, at least in our Beloved Republic. That seems to be the case, in any event, a little less than a century after this grandly optimistic book came forth from the Macmillan Company.
It wouldn't be the first time such hopes, and others, were exaggerated. Think of how, in 1968, Kubrick and Clarke came up with 2001: A Space Odyssey. Is it possible that reasonable men and women thought we would have large colonies on the Moon to which we traveled regularly, and could send a manned mission to Jupiter, in 2001? So it seems. What disappointments we are to ourselves.
What would poor Roy think now about his anticipated "Next Step"? We have commercials in which we are told that God is employing a dating service to find spouses for us (you would think that if God truly is a mere matchmaker, he would manage to do that himself). We are told by political and religious leaders that Satan has his sights on us, that God is angry at us and so will allow us to be punished by hurricanes and other things because of homosexuals. The return of Jesus and the Last Judgment are eagerly awaited and the subject of popular novels. The year is 2013, and it is being demanded that evolution not be taught in our schools or that alternatives to evolution in the form of creationism be taught as well. Some of us think that the world was created 6,000 years ago.
It's an interesting book, really, and worth a read despite its optimism. But one wonders what happened. Are we stupider than, or at least as stupid as, we were in 1918? Are we off schedule due to some event, such as the Second World War, which distracted us? The First World War was apparently not enough to convince Sellars that the Next Step would be postponed indefinitely.
I suspect that the good professor simply overestimated us, rather drastically. Perhaps this can happen if an academic is too sheltered from the oppressively real world which lies outside the academy, but I doubt that is the whole answer. There are still those who proclaim the end of the "God Delusion" even now. I prefer Sellars' arguments to theirs, so I anticipate they will prove to be even less insightful than he was regarding our future.
It seems clear that most of us need religion, or in any case feel it necessary and worthwhile to believe in God. If that need will ever dissipate, it is most doubtful that will take place in the foreseeable future. But should it take place?
I don't think a belief in God or spiritual or religious feelings are undesirable in and of themselves. One can believe in a God who is not busily finding ways for us to meet our wives or husbands, not obsessed with our sexual conduct and does not insist that we believe he wrote a certain book through someone and does not proscribe death and eternal damnation if certain rules are not followed. One can, in other words, conceive of and believe in a God who is not a particularly nasty, intrusive, and demanding kind of human being.
Perhaps our intellectual leaders would do better service by seeking to transform and inform our beliefs in God rather than condemning the belief in God and religion generally. These beliefs won't go away, but it is possible to have intelligent, reasonable beliefs in these matters.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
We got Guns, they got Guns, all God's Children got Guns
These words were sung to the tune of the old spiritual by the Marx Brothers (and nameless others) in their masterpiece, Duck Soup, in jubilation as the fictional country of Fredonia went to war under the inspired leadership of Groucho as Rufus T. Firefly. Perhaps it should become a theme song, if not the anthem, of our beloved Republic. It would at least be easier to sing than that most difficult of songs. Singing it after the anthem at public gatherings may be appropriate in any event.
Although I'm mindful of the Stoic maxim that we should treat things that are not in our control as indifferent, I can't help but feel a sad weariness, if not despair, over the failure of the Senate to adopt at least some kind of regulation of the sale and possession of firearms. Accepting the Second Amendment to be what it is (and all that it is; an amendment to the Constitution) does not mean that the right to bear arms cannot be regulated, and it is foolish to maintain otherwise.
If it is possible to speak of a militia in these times, and if that word is to be taken into account in interpreting that amendment, it is also necessary to note that "militia" is referred in the amendment as "well-regulated." This qualifying language indicates that to the extent the right to bear arms is founded on the need for a militia, it was recognized that such a militia should not merely be regulated, but should be well regulated. The Fathers of this country were as well aware of the dangers presented by an armed citizenry as they were of its benefits.
One has to wonder just why the compromise presented was rejected. Nobody was seeking to take guns from those who are so fond of them, or even from those who merely have them legally and do not have the fetishistic regard for them others plainly do. Concerns that a national registry would be created seem unfounded; that one would be created as a consequence of new laws, or that the new laws proposed were a planned prelude to the confiscation of guns, seem to be motivated by a kind of paranoia.
Claims that we should enforce existing laws are well and good but do not require the inference that no further laws should be adopted. Why not enforce existing laws and adopt new ones that are not duplicative? Claims that new laws won't prevent criminals or the mentally irresponsible from acquiring guns are not persuasive. We may learn that is the case, but it is impossible to know that now. In that event, the laws can be modified. But criminals by definition violate the law. It doesn't follow that laws should not be adopted, or that efforts to enforce the law should be abandoned.
The arguments against the compromise that I have heard are so flimsy that it is tempting to assert that those who voted against it did so because of avarice (for money and power) or out of fear. The claim being made that we should all arm ourselves seems exceedingly cynical coming from those who have become mere shills for gun and ammunition manufacturers, and is senseless given our history of using whatever weapon is at hand to harm others when we become angry.
But there may be other reasons we are all too ready to resist any attempt to regulate guns, and it may be that one of them is a sense of entitlement (such a naughty word these days in conservative circles) arising from an absolutist and even miserly interpretation of the Second Amendment and other legal rights (or perceived rights).
When we believe we have a right to do something, too many of us believe there is no reason to admit even the possibility of limitations to that right, regardless of whether its exercise would needlessly inconvenience or harm others. We take a selfish and dully self-righteous satisfaction and pride in claiming we have a right to do something and it doesn't matter whether others like it or not or are adversely impacted--we're going do it anyway, even if we don't have to.
There is something ignoble in such an attitude. It is a mean and petty conceit in all cases, but it is particularly so when dangerous weapons are at issue.
Although I'm mindful of the Stoic maxim that we should treat things that are not in our control as indifferent, I can't help but feel a sad weariness, if not despair, over the failure of the Senate to adopt at least some kind of regulation of the sale and possession of firearms. Accepting the Second Amendment to be what it is (and all that it is; an amendment to the Constitution) does not mean that the right to bear arms cannot be regulated, and it is foolish to maintain otherwise.
If it is possible to speak of a militia in these times, and if that word is to be taken into account in interpreting that amendment, it is also necessary to note that "militia" is referred in the amendment as "well-regulated." This qualifying language indicates that to the extent the right to bear arms is founded on the need for a militia, it was recognized that such a militia should not merely be regulated, but should be well regulated. The Fathers of this country were as well aware of the dangers presented by an armed citizenry as they were of its benefits.
One has to wonder just why the compromise presented was rejected. Nobody was seeking to take guns from those who are so fond of them, or even from those who merely have them legally and do not have the fetishistic regard for them others plainly do. Concerns that a national registry would be created seem unfounded; that one would be created as a consequence of new laws, or that the new laws proposed were a planned prelude to the confiscation of guns, seem to be motivated by a kind of paranoia.
Claims that we should enforce existing laws are well and good but do not require the inference that no further laws should be adopted. Why not enforce existing laws and adopt new ones that are not duplicative? Claims that new laws won't prevent criminals or the mentally irresponsible from acquiring guns are not persuasive. We may learn that is the case, but it is impossible to know that now. In that event, the laws can be modified. But criminals by definition violate the law. It doesn't follow that laws should not be adopted, or that efforts to enforce the law should be abandoned.
The arguments against the compromise that I have heard are so flimsy that it is tempting to assert that those who voted against it did so because of avarice (for money and power) or out of fear. The claim being made that we should all arm ourselves seems exceedingly cynical coming from those who have become mere shills for gun and ammunition manufacturers, and is senseless given our history of using whatever weapon is at hand to harm others when we become angry.
But there may be other reasons we are all too ready to resist any attempt to regulate guns, and it may be that one of them is a sense of entitlement (such a naughty word these days in conservative circles) arising from an absolutist and even miserly interpretation of the Second Amendment and other legal rights (or perceived rights).
When we believe we have a right to do something, too many of us believe there is no reason to admit even the possibility of limitations to that right, regardless of whether its exercise would needlessly inconvenience or harm others. We take a selfish and dully self-righteous satisfaction and pride in claiming we have a right to do something and it doesn't matter whether others like it or not or are adversely impacted--we're going do it anyway, even if we don't have to.
There is something ignoble in such an attitude. It is a mean and petty conceit in all cases, but it is particularly so when dangerous weapons are at issue.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Practical Skepticism
I use "practical" here in an effort to make clear that the skepticism I would like to consider is not what is sometimes called "philosophical" skepticism, or at least skepticism as conceived or applied by certain philosophers which, I think, is a skepticism which is insignificant to those of us who struggle to get by in the world. Whether we can "really" have knowledge of anything, or of the truth of any proposition, is I'm sure interesting (to some in any case) but this is of little concern in our day- to-day affairs, where the doubts we face are encountered and not generated as grist for philosophical mills which seemingly are always grinding. But, for what purpose and to what effect do they grind?
Purpose can be rather important in our lives, and effects as well. And in the play of purposes, conduct directed towards them and the effects of that conduct, practical skepticism can be of considerable value. One can usefully doubt certain claims and question certain conduct in circumstances in which such doubts or questions may be addressed and eradicated, or answered. When they can't be, however, it isn't clear just what one achieves by being skeptical, if that skepticism is active, if I can use that word (I have, in any case); in other words if one maintains that something is not true. That's because the issue cannot be resolved, one way or another--the question can't be answered. It would make more sense in those circumstances, I think, to be unconvinced; in other words, not to accept that something is true rather than maintain that it is not true.
It can be maintained that the existence of God is one of those areas where active skepticism does not seem to achieve much. Nobody can prove God exists to a reasonable degree of probability as we lawyers say, nor can it be proved God does not exist. If that's the case, why insist that God exists or does not exist? More significantly, why insist that others believe, with you, that God exists or does not exist?
One can, or course, think that God exists or does not exist. And many do. One can assert that certain things indicate that God's existence is likely or unlikely, or suggest that God exists. As to certain such claims, it can be argued that regardless, God's existence is not established. But this should disturb we who believe, I would think, no more than it should disturb us people disagree with us on other matters the veracity of which cannot be determined. Similarly though, and for the same reason, I would think that those who do not believe should not be disturbed that others do.
Now the atheist can assert that he/she is more reasonable than those who believe in God's existence, and in that sense "better" because he/she doesn't believe in something the existence of which can't be established. And that is certainly true, if it is only reasonable to maintain that someone can only feel something is real, and exists, if its existence can be established in the same fashion as any subject or potential subject of scientific inquiry can be established. But scientifc inquiry is not necessarily a pertinent basis on which to base belief in God, from the perspective of the believer. So, such a view will leave most believers unimpressed. It would seem an appropriate response for the believer to say to the atheist in that case: "So be it."
The problem, though, is that too often there is more involved. God's existence or nonexistence is something many of us seem incapable of addressing in an abstract, dispassionate manner. We're inclined to insist, proclaim, demand, even fight. It seems a highly emotional, even irrational, concern of ours. There are too many believers and atheists, and skeptics, who are evangelists of one kind or another.
Historically, though, the believers have been far more agressive than unbelievers in imposing or seeking to impose their beliefs on others. This doesn't speak well of believers, and makes the aggressiveness of the "New Atheists" and their fellow travelers somewhat understandible. There is no Inquisition, but perhaps there will be an Imposition, if the religious among us have their way.
Perhaps our hope must be in a practical skepticism and the humility which it inspires. "Presume not God to scan" said Alexander Pope, a phrase which has a new meaning now. We are a presumptuous species in far too many ways.
Purpose can be rather important in our lives, and effects as well. And in the play of purposes, conduct directed towards them and the effects of that conduct, practical skepticism can be of considerable value. One can usefully doubt certain claims and question certain conduct in circumstances in which such doubts or questions may be addressed and eradicated, or answered. When they can't be, however, it isn't clear just what one achieves by being skeptical, if that skepticism is active, if I can use that word (I have, in any case); in other words if one maintains that something is not true. That's because the issue cannot be resolved, one way or another--the question can't be answered. It would make more sense in those circumstances, I think, to be unconvinced; in other words, not to accept that something is true rather than maintain that it is not true.
It can be maintained that the existence of God is one of those areas where active skepticism does not seem to achieve much. Nobody can prove God exists to a reasonable degree of probability as we lawyers say, nor can it be proved God does not exist. If that's the case, why insist that God exists or does not exist? More significantly, why insist that others believe, with you, that God exists or does not exist?
One can, or course, think that God exists or does not exist. And many do. One can assert that certain things indicate that God's existence is likely or unlikely, or suggest that God exists. As to certain such claims, it can be argued that regardless, God's existence is not established. But this should disturb we who believe, I would think, no more than it should disturb us people disagree with us on other matters the veracity of which cannot be determined. Similarly though, and for the same reason, I would think that those who do not believe should not be disturbed that others do.
Now the atheist can assert that he/she is more reasonable than those who believe in God's existence, and in that sense "better" because he/she doesn't believe in something the existence of which can't be established. And that is certainly true, if it is only reasonable to maintain that someone can only feel something is real, and exists, if its existence can be established in the same fashion as any subject or potential subject of scientific inquiry can be established. But scientifc inquiry is not necessarily a pertinent basis on which to base belief in God, from the perspective of the believer. So, such a view will leave most believers unimpressed. It would seem an appropriate response for the believer to say to the atheist in that case: "So be it."
The problem, though, is that too often there is more involved. God's existence or nonexistence is something many of us seem incapable of addressing in an abstract, dispassionate manner. We're inclined to insist, proclaim, demand, even fight. It seems a highly emotional, even irrational, concern of ours. There are too many believers and atheists, and skeptics, who are evangelists of one kind or another.
Historically, though, the believers have been far more agressive than unbelievers in imposing or seeking to impose their beliefs on others. This doesn't speak well of believers, and makes the aggressiveness of the "New Atheists" and their fellow travelers somewhat understandible. There is no Inquisition, but perhaps there will be an Imposition, if the religious among us have their way.
Perhaps our hope must be in a practical skepticism and the humility which it inspires. "Presume not God to scan" said Alexander Pope, a phrase which has a new meaning now. We are a presumptuous species in far too many ways.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Orwell and Wells
George Orwell is another fine essayist I enjoy reading, along with Vidal, Hazlitt, Montaigne and others. Not quite as ornate or elegant in his language, perhaps, but most insightful. He wrote an essay regarding the odd couple of H.G. Wells and Adolph Hitler I find interesting enough to comment on here.
He begins with a succession of quotes of Wells from various publications of the time, superciliously denouncing Hitler but most of all asserting he is a kind of silly, preposterous buffoon; mentally defective, perhaps, but relatively harmless. One sees that the quotes are taken from writings made over time--Wells goes on to minimize the threat of the Nazis and the German war machine. Even after the war has commenced, he opines that the Germans are played out early in the conflict and will soon enough disappear along with their barbaric ways. Wells comes across as something of a simpleton; all will be well, in the garden, he tells those who troubled to read him in those troubled times. Just wait until winter ends.
Orwell doesn't quite treat Wells as a simpleton, however. He seems to treat him more as an intelligent, talented man who is dangerously naive, and also a kind of anachronism. An Edwardian liberal among fascists and totalitarians, commenting snootily and ineffectively while they demonstrate how completely Wells failed to comprehend humanity. He notes that Wells seemed incapable of grasping the extent to which emotion and the irrational dominate our affairs, especially our violence and our propensity for war. Orwell remarks that Napoleon is the villain of Wells' sweeping and opinionated Outline of History. I've read that far less than impartial stab at history, and am inclined to agree. It's a bit like Bertrand Russell's "history" of western philosophy--anyone different from the author comes out looking either nasty or ridiculous.
While Orwell plainly considers Wells to be terribly impatient of reality, and especially of our part in it, he considers others to be disingenuous if not dishonest and hypocritical. This comes across not only in the essay in question, but in another in which he writes of his memories of the Spanish Civil War in which he participated on the Republican side. The left wing intelligentsia are targeted by Orwell in that piece. Although they were otherwise anti-war up to that point, they glorified it and rhapsodized over the fight against Franco in that case. Orwell isn't apologizing for the fascists and imperialists; he notes their illusions as well. He is out to maintain that war, any war, is disgusting and that those who fight wars do so without any thought for those who insist that they take part in it, always for a good cause, but somehow manage to avoid fighting it themselves.
Orwell knew us better than Wells. What would Wells think of us now? Would he believe that the perpetual war of our times ("perpetual war for perpetual peace" pace Charles Beard and Gore Vidal) is just a frolic and a detour engaged in by humanity on its inevitable rise to One World Government, peace and welfare for all? There is indeed such a thing as willful blindness, and it's likely H.G. would be as blind now as he was then. We hold our illusions very dear, particularly our intellectual illusions, I think.
Intellectual illusions are eminently affordable; that is to say, sustainable. This is because such illusions are generally those held, and savored, when there is nothing to lose and by those who have nothing to lose. They are held by the comfortable, who have the time and opportunity to indulge in them and have no need of testing their beliefs by fighting for them or otherwise putting them to the test personally. Those holding intellectual illusions assume no risk but, to the extent those illusions make a difference in our lives, expect others to do so for them.
Wells had his, and others of his kind now, on the left and the right, religious and non-religious, have theirs. Strangely, and tragically, it seems the most powerful of those illusions involve the lives and conduct of others. We are never so eager and certain than when we are telling each other how to live. Thankfully, relatively few of us have the power to compel others to do our bidding, but those few are growing in power and it has never taken more than a few to make the lives of many miserable.
He begins with a succession of quotes of Wells from various publications of the time, superciliously denouncing Hitler but most of all asserting he is a kind of silly, preposterous buffoon; mentally defective, perhaps, but relatively harmless. One sees that the quotes are taken from writings made over time--Wells goes on to minimize the threat of the Nazis and the German war machine. Even after the war has commenced, he opines that the Germans are played out early in the conflict and will soon enough disappear along with their barbaric ways. Wells comes across as something of a simpleton; all will be well, in the garden, he tells those who troubled to read him in those troubled times. Just wait until winter ends.
Orwell doesn't quite treat Wells as a simpleton, however. He seems to treat him more as an intelligent, talented man who is dangerously naive, and also a kind of anachronism. An Edwardian liberal among fascists and totalitarians, commenting snootily and ineffectively while they demonstrate how completely Wells failed to comprehend humanity. He notes that Wells seemed incapable of grasping the extent to which emotion and the irrational dominate our affairs, especially our violence and our propensity for war. Orwell remarks that Napoleon is the villain of Wells' sweeping and opinionated Outline of History. I've read that far less than impartial stab at history, and am inclined to agree. It's a bit like Bertrand Russell's "history" of western philosophy--anyone different from the author comes out looking either nasty or ridiculous.
While Orwell plainly considers Wells to be terribly impatient of reality, and especially of our part in it, he considers others to be disingenuous if not dishonest and hypocritical. This comes across not only in the essay in question, but in another in which he writes of his memories of the Spanish Civil War in which he participated on the Republican side. The left wing intelligentsia are targeted by Orwell in that piece. Although they were otherwise anti-war up to that point, they glorified it and rhapsodized over the fight against Franco in that case. Orwell isn't apologizing for the fascists and imperialists; he notes their illusions as well. He is out to maintain that war, any war, is disgusting and that those who fight wars do so without any thought for those who insist that they take part in it, always for a good cause, but somehow manage to avoid fighting it themselves.
Orwell knew us better than Wells. What would Wells think of us now? Would he believe that the perpetual war of our times ("perpetual war for perpetual peace" pace Charles Beard and Gore Vidal) is just a frolic and a detour engaged in by humanity on its inevitable rise to One World Government, peace and welfare for all? There is indeed such a thing as willful blindness, and it's likely H.G. would be as blind now as he was then. We hold our illusions very dear, particularly our intellectual illusions, I think.
Intellectual illusions are eminently affordable; that is to say, sustainable. This is because such illusions are generally those held, and savored, when there is nothing to lose and by those who have nothing to lose. They are held by the comfortable, who have the time and opportunity to indulge in them and have no need of testing their beliefs by fighting for them or otherwise putting them to the test personally. Those holding intellectual illusions assume no risk but, to the extent those illusions make a difference in our lives, expect others to do so for them.
Wells had his, and others of his kind now, on the left and the right, religious and non-religious, have theirs. Strangely, and tragically, it seems the most powerful of those illusions involve the lives and conduct of others. We are never so eager and certain than when we are telling each other how to live. Thankfully, relatively few of us have the power to compel others to do our bidding, but those few are growing in power and it has never taken more than a few to make the lives of many miserable.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Another Visit to the Roman Empire, Part II
I was commenting on a visit to Prague in yesterday's post, and before I write of my next stop am inclined to address graffiti, which is sadly ubiquitous in that fair city.
As one might guess, I'm no fan of graffiti, which some apparently consider an art form, albeit one in which the art is made to appear on the property of another regardless of his/her consent, or perhaps the property of the local government. I've seen some examples of graffiti which are, arguably, art, but find these to be exceedingly rare; most of what I've seen strike me as, at best, cartoonish and garish displays of little interest if any interest at all. Much of it seems merely ugly.
Setting aside the question whether there are rights of private property owners which are violated, I think that especially in cases of structures which are of historical or artistic interest themselves, it is contemptible to mar them by imposing on them other art or in most cases purported art, or to deface them. That seems to have happened throughout Prague, and I think this is to be regretted.
My next stop was the province of Tarroconensis, specifically the city of Barcelona in what is now called the region of Catalonia in the country of Spain. Possibly founded by the Carthaginian Barca family (or by Hercules, which seems less likely), which caused Rome so much trouble, it has in its Gothic Quarter various Roman ruins of the kind which I delight in, as well as those left by Visigoths and those lords or kings of the medieval period, who were so plentiful as to defy itemization, by me at least. There is a wonderful old cathedral or basilica in that district as well. Not, of course, the perpetually unfinished Sagrada Familia which seems to be a kind of symbol of the city, but impressive nonetheless.
Speaking of the Sagrada Familia, one can't visit Barcelona without encountering the works of Antoni Gaudi, which are as ubiquitous in that city as graffiti is in Prague. They are interesting, certainly, though just how practical they are I don't know. The works of Frank Lloyd Wright are interesting as well, and some of them are notably impractical in the sense that they leak, and otherwise present similar mundane problems which render living or working in them inconvenient or unpleasant. Perhaps homes and offices should not be works of art; but who am I to say? They're draws, in any case, and in that sense benefit the cities in which they are situated if not the citizens who are fated to live or work in them.
It's a beautiful city of great, wide boulevards and fountains, and an impressive seafront graced by a statue of Columbus majestically pointing to the India he thought he would encounter in 1492. I would think a statue of that great man shrugging his shoulders or scratching his head would be more appropriate.
I found myself fonder of Barcelona than I was of Prague. This may be due to the fact that the weather in Barcelona was much milder, but I think also and primarily to the fact that I am more comfortable in places of Latin culture than I am elsewhere. The wine of Catalonia was particularly satisfying.
Barcelona is famous for its pickpockets, but I managed to avoid them. It was amusing to turn on the TV and find myself watching an episode of Fawlty Towers. Fans of that show will recall that the waiter, Manuel, was supposed to be from Barcelona. John Cleese looked very young; I suppose I did as well, back then. Manuel doesn't strike me as Catalan, though.
I spent much too little time in these cities to know them well or to any real extent. I'm sadly reminded that we have very little history here in God's favorite country--those of us of European descent, I mean. That of the natives of this land has been largely eradicated, unfortunately, and I suppose the result is they have very little history as well; at least of the kind that can be seen and felt. This detracts from having a sense of history, which may be necessary to culture and empathy and other things. But this kind of speculation has been indulged in by many already, and anything I have to say in that regard would likely be specious or would have been said better before by others.
Travel broadens the mind, they say. It at least does so in the sense that it gives one much to think of, if one is inclined to think.
As one might guess, I'm no fan of graffiti, which some apparently consider an art form, albeit one in which the art is made to appear on the property of another regardless of his/her consent, or perhaps the property of the local government. I've seen some examples of graffiti which are, arguably, art, but find these to be exceedingly rare; most of what I've seen strike me as, at best, cartoonish and garish displays of little interest if any interest at all. Much of it seems merely ugly.
Setting aside the question whether there are rights of private property owners which are violated, I think that especially in cases of structures which are of historical or artistic interest themselves, it is contemptible to mar them by imposing on them other art or in most cases purported art, or to deface them. That seems to have happened throughout Prague, and I think this is to be regretted.
My next stop was the province of Tarroconensis, specifically the city of Barcelona in what is now called the region of Catalonia in the country of Spain. Possibly founded by the Carthaginian Barca family (or by Hercules, which seems less likely), which caused Rome so much trouble, it has in its Gothic Quarter various Roman ruins of the kind which I delight in, as well as those left by Visigoths and those lords or kings of the medieval period, who were so plentiful as to defy itemization, by me at least. There is a wonderful old cathedral or basilica in that district as well. Not, of course, the perpetually unfinished Sagrada Familia which seems to be a kind of symbol of the city, but impressive nonetheless.
Speaking of the Sagrada Familia, one can't visit Barcelona without encountering the works of Antoni Gaudi, which are as ubiquitous in that city as graffiti is in Prague. They are interesting, certainly, though just how practical they are I don't know. The works of Frank Lloyd Wright are interesting as well, and some of them are notably impractical in the sense that they leak, and otherwise present similar mundane problems which render living or working in them inconvenient or unpleasant. Perhaps homes and offices should not be works of art; but who am I to say? They're draws, in any case, and in that sense benefit the cities in which they are situated if not the citizens who are fated to live or work in them.
It's a beautiful city of great, wide boulevards and fountains, and an impressive seafront graced by a statue of Columbus majestically pointing to the India he thought he would encounter in 1492. I would think a statue of that great man shrugging his shoulders or scratching his head would be more appropriate.
I found myself fonder of Barcelona than I was of Prague. This may be due to the fact that the weather in Barcelona was much milder, but I think also and primarily to the fact that I am more comfortable in places of Latin culture than I am elsewhere. The wine of Catalonia was particularly satisfying.
Barcelona is famous for its pickpockets, but I managed to avoid them. It was amusing to turn on the TV and find myself watching an episode of Fawlty Towers. Fans of that show will recall that the waiter, Manuel, was supposed to be from Barcelona. John Cleese looked very young; I suppose I did as well, back then. Manuel doesn't strike me as Catalan, though.
I spent much too little time in these cities to know them well or to any real extent. I'm sadly reminded that we have very little history here in God's favorite country--those of us of European descent, I mean. That of the natives of this land has been largely eradicated, unfortunately, and I suppose the result is they have very little history as well; at least of the kind that can be seen and felt. This detracts from having a sense of history, which may be necessary to culture and empathy and other things. But this kind of speculation has been indulged in by many already, and anything I have to say in that regard would likely be specious or would have been said better before by others.
Travel broadens the mind, they say. It at least does so in the sense that it gives one much to think of, if one is inclined to think.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Another Visit to the Roman Empire
Which is to say, of course, another visit to Europe. I've noted before in this blog that I recently visited the province of Britannia, and may have noted also that there was a time, long ago, when I was conveyed by bus around portions of the Empire as a distinguished member of a high school band which was there for some reason I cannot recall. In those distant, halcyon days, I spent most of my visit either drunk or hung over. My more recent excursion to Londinium and Edinburgh was a more sober experience, as was this one.
In fact, a part of my imperial tour was spent outside the boundaries of the empire, in what apparently would have been the province of Marcomannia if the plans of Marcus Aurelius had not been abandoned by his curious son Commodus. It's been said that Commodus in deciding not to create such a province compared himself to Hadrian who had withdrawn from territory conquered by Trajan. It's doubtful Hadrian would have appreciated any comparison with that very odd emperor. People still wonder why the philosopher-emperor Marcus Aurelius "allowed" his dissolute son to succeed him, the more imaginative claiming that he did not, and that Commodus assumed the purple by killing his father.
The province would have been called "Marcomannia" because it was at that time the habitat of the Marcomanni, a troublesome Germanic tribe which, along with the Quadi and and others, kept Marcus in camp with his legions for quite some time, eventually wresting from them a satisfactory though temporary peace (peace with the Germans was always temporary, it seems, then and up to now). Although he isn't known as a great military leader, Marcus Aurelius was a very competent commander, particularly in light of the fact that he had little military training. Regardless, I refer to that area now known as the Czech Republic, comprising the former regions of Bohemia and Moravia.
Bohemia was of course the home of another very able military commander--Wallenstein. That interesting man fought on the Catholic side of the Thirty Years War, and fought very well indeed, rivalling and even outshining the Protestant King of Sweden, Gustavus Adolphus. As he was a servant of the Hapsburgs, famous for their lips and inbreeding, not the most intelligent or faithful of the royal families, he did not do as well as he could in life, though. It's said he inspired jealously, and was excessively venal and ambitious, which no doubt annoyed the venal, ambitious Hapsburgs.
Prague is a lovely city, although it was frigidly lovely during the days of my visit. Its brightly colored buildings and spires dotting its seven hills and extending along its river are charming; the city has been compared to Paris, and indeed does look rather like Paris along the Seine as it appears in pictures (I haven't been there). As it was (is?) largely a Catholic city, despite the efforts of the Hussites, its churches are grandiose, even baroque, compared with those of Londinium; saints are everywhere in stone, silver and gold. The churches are gloriously ornate. King Wenceslaus himself appears on its streets, or people dressed as him do, looking disturbing and even creepy, I must say, due to the use of an impassive and even baleful gold mask. It's great castle or palace (both, I suppose) is impressive. One has to wonder just why Hitler looked down on the Slavs after seeing Prague; but he looked down on so many, having the peculiar hauteur of the psychopath.
It is supposed to be a great beer city, but the beer I had while there was merely Pilsner Urquell, which is prevalent, or worse Budvar, a kind of hideous European version of Budweiser, or perhaps Budweiser is a hideous American version of Budvar. Either way, it is an insipid brew, and I was disappointed as I know there are fine Czech beers.
Its Old Town is impressive. The decor of the Belle Epoque is everywhere, which I found somewhat surprising, but I have a fondness for it as well as Art Deco (also frequently seen) so this wasn't displeasing, although the work of Alphonse Mucha grows old on me rather quickly. Franz Kafka is there also, of course, as a kind of counterweight. I longed to visit the tavern Einstein is said to have frequented, but time, being what it is, and relative, ran out.
Time runs out now for me as well, and I must leave the rest of my musings on this visit to another post, and so say Vale for now.
In fact, a part of my imperial tour was spent outside the boundaries of the empire, in what apparently would have been the province of Marcomannia if the plans of Marcus Aurelius had not been abandoned by his curious son Commodus. It's been said that Commodus in deciding not to create such a province compared himself to Hadrian who had withdrawn from territory conquered by Trajan. It's doubtful Hadrian would have appreciated any comparison with that very odd emperor. People still wonder why the philosopher-emperor Marcus Aurelius "allowed" his dissolute son to succeed him, the more imaginative claiming that he did not, and that Commodus assumed the purple by killing his father.
The province would have been called "Marcomannia" because it was at that time the habitat of the Marcomanni, a troublesome Germanic tribe which, along with the Quadi and and others, kept Marcus in camp with his legions for quite some time, eventually wresting from them a satisfactory though temporary peace (peace with the Germans was always temporary, it seems, then and up to now). Although he isn't known as a great military leader, Marcus Aurelius was a very competent commander, particularly in light of the fact that he had little military training. Regardless, I refer to that area now known as the Czech Republic, comprising the former regions of Bohemia and Moravia.
Bohemia was of course the home of another very able military commander--Wallenstein. That interesting man fought on the Catholic side of the Thirty Years War, and fought very well indeed, rivalling and even outshining the Protestant King of Sweden, Gustavus Adolphus. As he was a servant of the Hapsburgs, famous for their lips and inbreeding, not the most intelligent or faithful of the royal families, he did not do as well as he could in life, though. It's said he inspired jealously, and was excessively venal and ambitious, which no doubt annoyed the venal, ambitious Hapsburgs.
Prague is a lovely city, although it was frigidly lovely during the days of my visit. Its brightly colored buildings and spires dotting its seven hills and extending along its river are charming; the city has been compared to Paris, and indeed does look rather like Paris along the Seine as it appears in pictures (I haven't been there). As it was (is?) largely a Catholic city, despite the efforts of the Hussites, its churches are grandiose, even baroque, compared with those of Londinium; saints are everywhere in stone, silver and gold. The churches are gloriously ornate. King Wenceslaus himself appears on its streets, or people dressed as him do, looking disturbing and even creepy, I must say, due to the use of an impassive and even baleful gold mask. It's great castle or palace (both, I suppose) is impressive. One has to wonder just why Hitler looked down on the Slavs after seeing Prague; but he looked down on so many, having the peculiar hauteur of the psychopath.
It is supposed to be a great beer city, but the beer I had while there was merely Pilsner Urquell, which is prevalent, or worse Budvar, a kind of hideous European version of Budweiser, or perhaps Budweiser is a hideous American version of Budvar. Either way, it is an insipid brew, and I was disappointed as I know there are fine Czech beers.
Its Old Town is impressive. The decor of the Belle Epoque is everywhere, which I found somewhat surprising, but I have a fondness for it as well as Art Deco (also frequently seen) so this wasn't displeasing, although the work of Alphonse Mucha grows old on me rather quickly. Franz Kafka is there also, of course, as a kind of counterweight. I longed to visit the tavern Einstein is said to have frequented, but time, being what it is, and relative, ran out.
Time runs out now for me as well, and I must leave the rest of my musings on this visit to another post, and so say Vale for now.
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